Of Two Negligible Souls (And One Bestial Natblida)
by Firedawn'd
Summary: Lexa did not think she would see another human being other than Clarke after the apocalypse. Not that she was complaining. By all means, she and Clarke were the last people standing on the face of Earth, save for those floating in the sky and thriving underground. But there was a Natblida child, gawking at her like she couldn't believe she was the last true Commander.
1. Last On Earth

_Lexa is dying. She was, ever since Clarke entered her tent and negotiated for peace for her people. Had been, when she ruled with a heart over her head, ignoring Skaikru's misdeeds and retracting punishment from those deserving. Her reign fell apart, when she tried to initiate Skaikru into the Coalition, a weakness so glaring the Clans knew she couldn't forget, and now—_

 _''Clarke—'' she gasps, and even with this her stomach spills blood—warm, thick, blackness that seeps through her fingers like a gulping wave that consumed all—painted her ebbing life, obscuring her vision, staining the white-furred bed. ''Clarke—'' she chokes out once again, because she does not want to die, not yet, not right now_

 _And euphoria blurs her mind. Runs through her veins; seeps through the recesses of her brain; and she sees them. Visions, at first. Images of her life; snippets that she could see, but out of her reach once she pulled out for them, long enough so she understood what they beheld._

 _Her mother, crying as Lexa were ripped away from her embrace, the Flamekeepers bringing Lexa to her destiny, she crying in kind, but tears, tears of joy, tears for her future had stained her cheeks that day. Loss, honour, brought by a day she would never forget for her life. Her, fighting in the Conclave, fighting for her life, fighting for her people all at once. For her birthright, for her people's pride, mixed with the insatiable need to_ ** _win_** _, to save herself, to_ ** _survive_** _. Her, meeting Costia, an emotion she didn't know spurring her heart. Love, vulnerability, but not a weakness—for she had coined it so, for far too long, till Costia herself pushed her away for believing so. Her, living, a life she'd never wanted but had needed for her people. And now, she was blessed with rest, a rest she didn't know she needed until the burden of the world was pushed from her shoulders, when she lay dying, dying, dead in a bed._

 _And she was no longer calling for Clarke, but for herself._

 _''My fight is over,'' and she breathes in a small smile, because euphoria runs her mind and the exhaustion, the sheer_ ** _exhaustion_** _is so, so taxing_ ** _._** _But she welcomes it. Happily. For her fight was over; her duty to her people paid in her blood; and she no longer had to fight._

 _She no longer had to fight. Not anymore. And as far as Commanders went, this was quite the painless way to go._

 _(At least, she thinks, and almost smiles again, there are my people waiting for me in the Afterlife. And maybe; if she wasn't so damn tired; maybe the next life. Maybe she'll get to meet Costia, and Clarke, and fall in love all over again.)_

 _She was so tired. So exhausted. Exhausted from helping her people; exhausted from Azgeda's war; exhausted from her life and conflict and_ ** _this life_** _, this life as a Commander, and for a Heda, she was so, so tired._

 _And then…_

 _And then…_

 _''Lexa, can you hear me?'' A voice, an angel's voice, drew her out of her haze. Euphoria surged through her cells; and as she saw nothing but light, as though it was over, as though she was done, then pain, sheer unadulterated_ ** _pain_** _dragged her from her haven to a bitter hell like a demon's laugh._

 _And in that moment she saw nothing but painpainpain, pain that destroyed her euphoria and pain that echoed amid her wilted screams. The angel's voice a demons; her screams for the loss of salvation. ''Lexa, stay with me,_ ** _please_** _._ _I need you to hang on. Need you to hang on long enough to save you. Please.''_

 _Her mind stuffed with cotton; the euphoria receding away till she saw orange and frightened faces and all that voiced by a hoarse scream; she tried to shut herself out from this twisted reality, but nonono she was still alive and nonono there was no going back. ''I'm going to perform emergency surgery, but I need you to stay still so I can minimalize the damage. Lexa, I'm so, so sorry. You're gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay.''_

 _Just let me die, her mind pleads as they turn her on her back and start to cut open her skin._

 _You're gonna be okay, is what laughs back instead._

 _Just let me die, the only words in a mind of jarring white, when every second of pain feels like an eternity of time._

 _You need to survive. You have to, is what the angel repeats, and she wonders if she can rip off the senseless masquerade._

 _Just let me die, a mantra she repeats as she grits her teeth and screams into the fur stained with her blood._

 _We're not done with you, the red demons smirk, a bitter grin on their warped faces._

 _Just let me die…_

 _Death is not the end._

 _..._

Lexa woke with a start.

Checked her surroundings. Shallow Valley. In her and Clarke's abode. Nothing to fear; at least, not yet. Checked her legs. Still unmoving, still unresponsive, still _burning_ ; but what did she expect? With a sigh, she cast a glance to Clarke, who was still sleeping soundly beside her. It had been a hard night; they had practically emptied their supplies from the lab, which meant she had to hunt enough food to keep them through the night. There was barely any food to scavenge, save for a few berries which they had for dinner. Never enough to fill their stomaches, but they still shared, with Clarke insisting giving more to her.

Clarke deserved the sleep, no doubt. Without a word, taking her legs in one quick movement, Lexa flung her legs over the bedside and steadily moved herself into her wheelchair, ignoring the cramps from the previous night that flared in protest.

Suddenly, she heard a yawn come from beside her. ''Awake?'' Clarke said, still yawning as she rubbed her eyes.

''Did I wake you?'' Lexa said quietly. ''I did not mean to.''

Clarke, stretching herself while stifling another yawn, replied: ''Hey, it doesn't matter. Gotta wake up sometime anyway.'' Then, noticing Lexa already in her wheelchair, she noted: ''Lexa, you alright?''

Lexa shut her eyes, and tried to rid her nightmare from her mind. The first ten minutes after waking up is when people remember their dreams most clearly. She just had to ignore it and let her mind pass.

One part of her wanted to bite back at Clarke, to tell her that it was none of her concern and that they should just get on with the day, but instead she bit her lip and said: ''… yes, Clarke. I'm fine. Just a bad dream.''

Clarke nodded, and thankfully, she didn't ask Lexa to elaborate. Wouldn't want to, after all—why would Clarke want to know Lexa thought she were a demon in masquerade? _It was just a dream,_ she reminded herself, but it felt all-too-real to be one.

Pushing that thought to the back of her mind, she wheeled herself out of their room. Approaching the counter, Lexa narrowed her eyes. ''Didn't we have a pack of rations here the night before?''

Clarke shrugged, getting up as well. ''Must've misplaced it.'' Thankfully, Lexa didn't notice the flash of confusion that passed over Clarke's eyes, before Clarke schooled her features. There was no way a ration packet could just disappear without notice. Trying to remember what happened to the missing ration packet proved a headache, especially after just waking up— _did Clarke eat it for a snack? No way, she was careful with their food, and plus, she's still starving—_

Clarke might have to count their rations later on again, even if it were to check for one missing package. Rubbing her eyes again, she groaned and moved towards the counter and opened the cupboard, where they placed their rations. Taking a packet, she put it on the counter, and quickly scanned over their leftover ration packets.

Lexa's humming was cut through by Clarke's exclamation. ''76.'' Fear passed over Clarke's eyes. ''Lexa, we had 168 ration packets when we arrived. There should be 110 left. Someone—some _thing's_ stealing them.''

Clarke turned back to Lexa, as if desperately seeking for an explanation that didn't involve rabid mutant animals stealing their food. Uneasiness clouded over Lexa's features, until she cast her eyes down back to the ration packet, troubled. ''We are not alone.''

They ate their halves in silence.

* * *

A/N: Thank you Sakurah!


	2. Nothing Good Ever Happens

''I'm going out,'' Clarke said, packing her bag and stuffing it with only the bare essentials. Food, water, Lexa's notepad to keep track of the flora, and a cloth was all Clarke needed. It was so that if for some reason Clarke or the bag disappeared, it wouldn't be that heavy of a hit to their supplies.

If the rabid-mutant animals didn't get to their supplies first, that was.

Lexa's eyes were troubled; perhaps even more than usual, with the knowledge that someone—or something was out there, taking and living off of their supplies. ''Be safe, Clarke,'' she said, but it was almost a whisper.

In response, Clarke leaned in for a kiss, which Lexa savoured. But she broke away too fast, and then Clarke was at the door, waving with a smile twinkling in her eyes, and she was gone.

Lexa breathed in a sigh, and returned her gaze to her notebook and their plans for the future.

…

It had been fifteen minutes since Clarke was supposed to return.

It was worrying, but Lexa pushed aside the thought to focus on sketching out plans when they ran out of rations. They were preparing to cultivate a farmland, hopefully ripe in time after they finished their rations. Finding the seeds proved tough, however, as there weren't many edibles around. It wasn't impossible, however, to make the farm…

Clarke had likely gotten carried away with scavenging, maybe even found a fresh patch of berries if they were lucky. There was nothing to worry about, Lexa's mind insisted, and yet…

Carefully placing her notebook into the compartment in her wheelchair, she wheeled away from their patch of arable dirt, and approached the forests.

She had never been a fan of the forests, not after wheeling in once in sought for berries that were just out of reach, and ended up trapped in a staunch of mud. She had managed to free the chair with some help from Clarke, but she had always been wary of the forests since then, despite the overwhelming urge she felt to enter the forest and to just hunt, like she did many times ago as Heda.

It wasn't her favourite pastime, but it was one of hers.

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a fleeting shadow pass—but by the time she looked back to determine what it was, there was nothing. Though it must've been a trick of the eye, the knotted tension in her stomach lurched. Scanning through the dense forests; reaching for the knife under her armrests' compartment, she tried to find the figure in the woods.

And then, Lexa heard a scream.

…

One so faint, barely out of earshot, and its origin nearly impossible to determine. But it was a scream nonetheless, and she knew it came from the forest.

Biting her lip and gazing upon the forests once again, she contemplated her choices: 1) Find Clarke, who was in obvious danger, for if she knew anything she knew Wanheda didn't scream, or 2) Wait here to be picked off by her stalker in the woods, possibly losing Clarke as well, and have their rations feasted on by their said stalker and mutant animals.

There was certainly no way Lexa would let Option 2 happen.

Taking in a bracing breath, Lexa eyed the most viable path (for if she got stuck in the mud, it would make her bad day even worse) that led into the woods. It was a fairly solid path, one Clarke used for gatherings.

The screams were getting louder.

Sucking in another breath, Lexa wheeled into the forest, bypassing the small trees, ferns, and the wheels bumping over the twigs, which had her grit her teeth and wheel further on. Your pain is nothing compared to Clarke's.

The scream, once so faint, had increased in volume. Lexa knew she was nearby.

The path had winded down, splitting into two ways. Recognition—deja vu nagged at the back of her mind, but she couldn't quite place it. Steeling her nerves as she felt another bump, she tried to suppress the flinch and internally ignored the jolt.

You're the Heda Lexa. You can do this.

The screams had died down. Lexa could hear nothing, and her heart quickened. What if…? No. She forbade herself to think that. There was no way.

She could make out a figure amid the trees, its shadow running through the trees as if trying to get away, trying to escape notice. Although her heart hammered in her ribs, she ignored the silhouette. She had to find Clarke.

Wheeling through the thick bushes and the barbed vines, grimacing at the bumps from the tired path, she broke through the sea of trees and into an open canopy, where whimpers of pain came from a blonde-haired figure, its leg snapped shut in a bear-trap.

''Clarke!'' Before Lexa knew it, she had slid on the ground beside a groaning Clarke, her legs folded underneath her, furiously working at the bear-trap which had ate Clarke's leg. It was a common tool Polis's (and Shallow Valley's) hunters used to catch big-game animals, such as hinds or bears where they herded the animals into the location of the bear-traps via a chase. However, after the hunts, they usually recollected their traps to use another day.

What was this doing here?! It was impossible, unless…

Somebody deliberately put it there.

Lexa felt sick. The sight of Clarke's snapped leg, ensnared in a bear trap, bleeding from its blunt yet vicious jaws, and her cries of pain agonized her, and made her nauseous. She knew who had put it there.

Three survivors left to scourge the Earth, and the last turns on us?

One click, and the trap sprung free. Clarke clutched at her leg, moaning in pain, as she gasped to make out words. Lexa hushed her, told her to save her breath and to focus on relaxing her muscles so she could take care of Clarke's wound, before making out what Clarke said:

''T—there was a Natblida.''

Her gaze turned sharply from the wound to Clarke. Surprise. Fear. Intrigue. Horror. ''What?''

''There was a Natblida,'' Clarke managed to cough out again, before breaking into a fit of coughing. Lexa tried her best to soothe her, while rummaging in Clarke's bag for something—anything to prevent the bleeding. ''A child. S—she,'' was all that got out before Clarke moaned in pain.

Lexa found a cloth. She could use it for bandaging the wound. Not perfect, but it was the best she could do for now. Gesturing towards her wheelchair, Clarke slowly moved into it gingerly, stifling gasps of pain as she did.

''The Natblida did this?'' Lexa asked, almost incredulously, as she worked on setting a tourniquet for the wound. Jagged bite marks were etched into Clarke's leg, with a stream of blood gushing out. It wasn't so much that a Natblida did it, but a child did. Why would they…?

Clarke nodded, before breaking out into another coughing fit. Cupping her hand, Lexa struck it against Clarke's back to help ease her.

''Yes,'' Clarke said hoarsely, gasping as Lexa began to bandage the wound. It took around fifteen minutes for Lexa to finish, and another five to secure the tourniquet. Although the blood still gushed from the wound, stained the bandage, at least it was less than what it was before.

They sat there, panting and sweating in the afternoon sun for a few minutes, before Clarke's gaze flitters back to her, almost an apology. ''I should leave.''

Lexa nods, and wiping the some of the mud and the black blood away from her hands (though it would return when she wheeled out of the godforsaken forest), she sucked in a breath as Clarke hobbled away from her wheelchair, and she gingerly transferred herself back on.

''Hold onto the handgrip,'' Lexa said, amidst Clarke's small but audible groans of pain. ''Not your full weight.'' Breathing in, reassuring herself, she said: ''You'll be alright, Clarke, I promise.''

She hoped it wasn't a false promise.


	3. Trials and Tribulations

''Ow,'' Clarke groans as she peels off the bandage in their abode, sitting atop a table, as Lexa removed the tourniquet. It had revealed a nasty-looking bite, with speckles of dirt, sweat and blood among it. Frowning, Lexa checked Clarke's leg—thankfully, it didn't appear broken.

Ever since they had returned from Lexa's impromptu trip into the woods (which took quite a bit of cursing, groaning, and more time than Lexa cared to admit), they had spent their time recuperating in their abode. Which mostly composed of complaining, and cursings directed towards the ''vicious, Natblida child from hell''.

Many thoughts had swirled in Lexa's mind on their journey home—from Clarke's wound to the Natblida child that apparently did this to her. A child won't attack unless provoked, she'd contemplated while on their little journey home. At least that was the case for Polis children. Clarke won't deliberately antagonize a child. The Natblida must've been afraid, somehow…

Turning towards Clarke, another thought surfacing in her mind, she questioned: ''Can you tell me more about this… Natblida? Perhaps you accidentally provoked her. Do you remember anything?''

Clarke paused for a moment, before responding with a frown: ''She'd called me a Fleimkipa. I tried to convince her I was not, but she led me into the bear trap.''

Her mind had stopped the moment Clarke uttered the words ''Fleimkipa''. It thought Clarke was a Fleimkipa.

Lexa almost wanted to bury her head in her hands. Of course it was because of Fleimkipas. When was it not? Natblida children, especially illegitimates, had feared the Fleimkipas for their whole lives, for the Fleimkipas hunted Natblida children down in case of a Heda's death, before donning them in war armour, and practically sending them off for ceremonial death all without a sound, rinse and repeat. Though it was a necessary process, it wasn't exactly a happy one, either. And especially with the recent Conclave to establish a new Heda in replace of Lexa, the danger of a Fleimkipa scout was even more immediate.

Or at least, it had could a nuclear apocalypse raze the Earth and yet a Natblida could still be afraid of the dangers of nonexistent Fleimkipa scouts?

''… do I really look that much like Titus?'' Clarke asked aloud, almost airily. However, Lexa could tell it was asked in such a manner to keep hers and Clarke's mind away from the pain—half of it said in distress, but half of it felt genuine.

''No,'' Lexa snorted. ''For starters, you would've never shot me.''

''Hmm.'' Clarke's hand wandered over to her own bloodied leg, and when she tried to dab a wet towel on the wound to clean it, hissed back in pain.

''Here. Let me help.'' Lexa took the towel from Clarke's hands, and began to carefully clean the wound, while Clarke's fist gripped tightly and relaxed in a measure of pain on the table.

''Your leg isn't broken,'' Lexa commented, as she placed the towel on the counter, while Clarke grimaced as she ran a finger across her wound. ''But we should wash it out to prevent infections.'' Placing both of her hands on the wheels, she said: ''I'll be back with water. Stay here.''

Wheeling away from their abode, she approached the well positioned at the centre of the Shallow Valley village, which was just a small stretch from their abode. Untying the knot, she lowered the roll of rope and the bucket attached into the well. The water wasn't contaminated—for that Praimfaya had missed the stretch of Shallow Valley, and thus included the rivers and the groundwater as well. After hearing the bucket fall to the bottom with a thunk, holding the rope firmly in her hand, she pulled the bucket with the water back up.

After the bucket was fairly visible, she tied a triple clove hitch at the pole, and reached out for the rope in the well. Thankfully, it wasn't too far away, and so unknotting the bucket from the rope, she placed the teeming bucket of water in her lap. She would come back later to reattach it.

Carefully manoeuvring herself so that the bucket of water didn't spill, her eye caught a figure running amid the village houses. On alert, her eyes tracked the figure that moved from house to house in a blur… until it stopped, and stepped out into the square.

She saw a child, wild-eyed and frightened, looking at Lexa with a mix of expressions she couldn't comprehend. At first, Lexa's heart raced; but then stilled, for though this Natblida might've severely injured Clarke, the Natblida couldn't do anything to her—at least, not now.

They were at a pass, Lexa and the Natblida, staring at teach other levelly, until the Natblida took off into the woods. Lexa barely had the time to call out for her before she was out of sight, the only proof of the Natblida's existence a rustle.

Shaking her head, taking a wheel in her hand, she took the bucket back to Clarke.


	4. Discussions of Acquisition

After placing the bucket of water near the table and tending to an unusually-mute Clarke. Lexa thought about their plans for the night. It was nearing dusk, which meant it should be when they began to light their candles. As she began to wrap up, rinsing the towel of blood, she began to move for the candles. However, nothing prepared her for Clarke's words.

''We should invite her in,'' was the first thing Clarke said, after forty minutes of silence.

Lexa's head whipped up from the drawer of candles to stare at Clarke, who was trying to leave her seat on the table. ''Excuse me?''

''We should invite her in, Lexa.'' Clarke repeated, more firmly this time, as she moved herself downwards from the table with her hands. At this, Lexa's eyes widened, and she quickly wheeled towards Clarke, abandoning her candles on the drawer.

''Stop, Clarke. You're hurting yourself.''

''I feel fine,'' Clarke said, before a small gasp escaped her when she shifted some of her weight onto her leg.

Lexa stared at Clarke incredulously, to which Clarke responded with a glare which ultimately spluttered and died under Lexa's stare. With the tactic of intimidation out of the window, Clarke admitted: ''Okay, I'm not fine. And that's the point I'm trying to make. We both aren't fine, Lexa. You're paralysed because of an incomplete spinal injury. I'm limping because my leg got stuck in a bear trap.''

''You'll heal, Clarke.'' Lexa interrupted, her voice tight, constrict. Gripping her hands in frustration, almost tersely at the dangerous waters Clarke was about to approach.

''But—'' Clarke said, bumbling through her words. ''—But what if it's not my leg next time? What if it's my arm? Or my head?''

''We'll figure it out.'' Lexa hissed. Gripping her fists tighter still. This was not a subject she wanted to approach today.

She had thought of the subject many times before, especially when they traversed from Becca's lab, and to Shallow Valley, a desert stretching seven days spanning in between them. Nothing she liked came out of the conversation with herself.

The desert made her feel helpless. That was a fact she knew, but she did not want to deal with the implications behind it then. It was only thanks to Clarke that she managed to get through it, and it was especially then when the feeling of being reliant on someone magnified, and reminded her why she disliked it even more. There was a reason why Commanders had to be capable and learned from birth to trust no-one, for if a Commander relied on somebody but themselves… what would happen when the person they relied on was gone?

Even now she was relying on Clarke for food, for supplies, for scavenging. If Clarke died, then… it was safe to say Lexa would perish as well, albeit with some fight, but the eventual end was still obvious.

Unless…

''We're not doing this, Clarke,'' Lexa said, a hint of anger befit of a Commander in her voice. Wheeling back towards the drawer, and furiously striking a match to light a candle, she said: ''We're done here.''

''We need her, Lexa.'' Clarke said from behind her, her voice impossibly soft—till the point where Lexa wondered if Clarke's words were meant to be heard by her, or not. ''We—''

''We don't,'' Lexa growled, cutting Clarke off. ''I can hunt. We don't need that Natblida helping us. We don't even know who she is, Clarke. By the Spirits, she broke your leg mere hours ago!''

''The bow's lost, Lexa,'' Clarke said in frustration. ''Unless my leg heals anytime soon, we are not going to survive.

Irritation arose within her. ''Split the rations, then.''

Clarke sighed. ''We're already splitting the rations. Look, we're not gonna do this without her. I'm not going hunting anytime soon, and neither will you be. We might be able to survive on rations this time, but what about the next? And the one after that?'' Clarke's voice was stricken. ''We're gonna run out of rations one way or another. Unless we figure out some long-term solution, a backup plan, we're gonna die when the next disaster strikes.''

''Stop, Clarke.'' Lexa said, almost too quickly.

Clarke blinked. ''… what?''

''You act like a pragmatist, but I know you well enough that you are not, Clarke.'' she began. Clarke's face almost seemed to freeze over. ''Your points are… pragmatic, well-founded, but you are an idealist at heart. You can try to justify it all you want, but tell me your true reason as for why you want her here.''

At Lexa's persistent stare, Clarke finally sighed. ''When I saw her—she was scared, Lexa. Afraid I was a Fleimkipa. When emotions run our head, we don't exactly make the best choices—ruling with impulse over rationale.''

Lexa's stare was still there. ''And?''

Clarke sighed. ''She's just a child, Lexa. A scared one. Almost like I was, once, when I acted with a heart rather than a head.'' Then, she gave a small chuckle. ''And though she might be the Natblida from hell, we should give her a choice. To either stay with us or go.''

And then, quieter, for Lexa's stare was still prominent— ''I don't think she has shelter, and with her stealing our rations, she's probably scarce on food, too. If we leave her out there any longer, she might die. And I can't let that happen.''

Seemed to be doing just fine on her bear-traps and rations, but she bit back the scathing remark.

Clarke almost seemed to read her mind, because she sighed once more. Bit back a rueful smile. ''You're acting like you're the one whose' gotten their leg broken, not me.'' And at Lexa's uncompromising stare, a layer of question mixed with a healthy dose of ''really?'' added to it, Clarke realised that the smile was getting harder to bite back.

''We should give her a second chance. Also, Lexa… the staring's getting kinda creepy.''

Taking a breath, eyes flittering from Clarke's face to the floor, the candle's fire flickering calmly in her hand, hoping she wouldn't regret this, Lexa said: ''… fine. But you have to rest, Clarke. Promise?''

A tiny, rueful smile spread across Clarke's face. ''Promise.''


	5. Of Commanders and Natblidas

Madi didn't notice the woman on the bed until she came in.

She lay horizontally on the bed, her eyes focused on the ceiling, and only flittering over to her once the door shut. Madi nearly froze when their gazes met; but the woman merely beckoned for her to come forward with a small nod.

Oh crap oh crap oh crap ran through her mind like a radio on repeat. There wasn't supposed to be anyone here! At five she leaves to take care of their plants, and Clarke would be out hunting by then.

The woman lifted her head and motioned to Madi once again. She was actually serious about it. Oh Spirits.

Madi had a few options: one, to get out of there as fast as her legs would carry her. Problem: they knew that she was stealing their food by now, and that would mean new hiding spots and fortified defenses, which, granted, Madi was not ready for. Or two, to actually do as the woman said and to approach her. It was absurd, but the longer she thought about it, the longer she felt better about it.

If they knew that Madi was stealing their food, and wasn't apparently mad about it, then maybe she had a chance. Although her head was screaming at her: ''no!'', Madi did as the woman motioned, though she did find it weird that the woman didn't just tell her to get out or maybe just kill her now—after all, this was the woman's living space, and Madi was the one intruding, ready to steal their rations and generally making their lives a pain in the ass if you would.

''What's your name?'' The woman asked; and though it was a question, the hint of authority in her voice almost made her flinch—and Madi's subconscious was telling her to maybe straighten up and bow, even though this woman was not a village head and definitely not a Commander.

And even if the Commander of the 12 Clans was standing before her, asking her for her name, Madi wouldn't give it, either. For starters, Madi's name was private. It was her own. Her family once used Madi's name a long time, sang songs about it—her sister used to tease her about it, as her brother grinned along, while her Mother and Father smiled at her indignance—but that was it.

Only family could use her name, and this woman was certainly not family.

Puffing up her chest, she glared at the woman. Madi would've expected the woman to look either shocked, or offended, but instead she gave a small, forlorn sigh and refocused her eyes on her legs.

Slightly puzzled, Madi's gaze followed the woman's. She recalled the time where this woman saved the Fleimkipa that called herself Clarke, using a chair with wheels. And later, when she took a bucket of water from the well, again with the chair with wheels. Although nothing seemed wrong with this woman on the surface level, she was likely injured somehow, if the wheelchair wasn't any testament to that.

Madi almost opened her mouth to speak, to ask the woman about her legs, but she managed to shove it back in. Focus, Madi, she berated. You're supposed to be on alert. You're here to hear what the woman has to say, and after that, you're getting the heck out of there and never coming back. Okay?

But she didn't listen to her mind's warnings. It was clear this woman wasn't dangerous—or at least didn't seem to be. After all, by the looks of it, she was likely injured and with Clarke keeping her here and with the woman trying to help Clarke out with the bear trap Madi, she would probably be a friend of Clarke's or some sort.

A friend of a Fleimkipa. The words tasted weird on her mouth. It just didn't roll off her tongue. Who had ever heard of Fleimkipa friends?

Doubts nagged at the back of Madi's mind. They had to be Fleimkipas, right…? But Clarke's accent sounded weird, for a Fleimkipa, though. And this woman in front of her spoke in perfect Trigedasleng, but was certainly in no shape to be a Fleimkipa, let alone a scout at that. So, who were they?

Not Fleimkipas, for starters.

Madi could feel her own cheeks redden, almost burning in embarrassment. She made a mistake. They weren't Fleimkipas trying to capture her, but Natblida survivors like her. And she'd probably antagonized at least one of them, or maybe even both, by the looks of it.

By the Heda's name, please let them not realise I made a mistake…

All this led Madi to completely forget about the woman in front of her, who looked slightly amused at Madi's expression. At this, Madi's face began to burn not in shame, but in anger.

What's so funny?! I broke your friend's leg! It was INTENTIONAL. I thought you were Fleimkipas! But you aren't, and I'm wrong and mistaken… oh Spirits, Heda, please save me from this embarrassment…

Her cheeks burning in embarrassment, Madi turned to leave the abode with some shred of dignity left… until the woman on the bed yelled out: ''Wait!''

Madi stopped. Looked back.

''Stay, goufa.'' Again with the Commander-esque voice. How did this woman learn the briskness? ''Would you not owe it to us, for injuring Clarke's leg?''

Madi could definitely just jump and run. But the visual of Clarke limping in pain, someone who was definitely not a Fleimkipa and (probably) meant no harm, was enough for her to guiltily turn back and walk back to the woman's side.

''My name is Lexa,'' the woman said, once Madi returned and had been situated near the far end of the room. (She didn't exactly trust the woman. Even if she did have the Commander's voice).

Lexa. Madi didn't know where she heard of the name; and she tried the words on her lips. It felt a bit like a case of deja-vu; the name felt familiar on her tongue, and she knew she heard it form somewhere before… she just couldn't place it.

''And yours?'' Commander-ness in her voice again, brisk and hard and harsh, as if expecting a response exactly now or risk the horror of decapitation just before a thousand cuts. Madi's brain did a turn. Where did decapitation come from? And a thousand cuts? And why did Lexa sound so familiar? She was sure she heard that name from somewhere, perhaps during the times when her Father and Mother conserved while they were trying to smuggle her out of Polis. But why?

Your name, now. Involuntarily, the makings of Madi's name was on the tip of her tongue before she caught herself, and pushed the words back. No! her brain yelled at her. You can't trust this woman! She might still be a Fleimkipa, she's a total stranger, and she's definitely not family.

It was true. And so, swallowing the words back into her throat, Madi said, on an edge: ''Why do you want me here?''

Lexa's face seemed reminiscent, wistful for one moment, before quickly snapping back into reality. Her lips quirked on the ends, but her eyes were far away. ''We are all Natblida, are we not? All we want to do is to survive. There is no reason why one shall do it alone.''

Madi almost gawked at the woman. ''You're inviting me?'' And then, a glance. ''Even after I broke Clarke's leg?''

''Injured, not broke,'' Lexa said evenly. ''There is a mountain of difference. And yes. I am inviting you to join us. Do you accept?''

Madi edged away from the woman. Wouldn't Clarke mind? was on the tip of her tongue, until she realised what it implied. It was a tempting offer, no doubt. Food, shelter, survival, all for basically free while negating the damage she (accidentally) did to Clarke. Ten days ago, she would've accepted that offer in a heartbeat. But ten days ago she was still in the desert, desperate for a smidge of water and food.

''I'll… think about it,'' was all she said before she all but practically ran out of the room.


	6. Dozen Forgotten Souls

''What'd she say?'' Clarke asked, once she returned from her scouting, carrying a makeshift crutch with her as she lurched forward, her facial features contorted in pain.

'' _Careful, Clarke,''_ Lexa said as Clarke ambled forward, her crutch dangerously unsteady by her side, and Lexa could only watch, eyes wide when Clarke took a step too far, too large—but thankfully she was caught by the doorframe.

''What'd she say?'' Clarke repeated once again, amidst her breathing.

Lexa took in a breath, and tried not to think about the Natblida or Clarke's sudden fall. Madi's face… _no, she didn't need another reminder._ ''She had said she would _think about it.''_

After a while, Clarke finally spoke. ''You don't like this.'' Clarke said, breathing laboured, leaning against the doorframe.

''You're right. I don't.'' Lexa said, voice hard, staring upwards at the panting Clarke. Unconsciously twisting the dirt from her wheelchair between her fingers, _trying to rid their images from her mind,_ she said: ''Although we can offer our hospitality to this… Natblida, when does it come that this Natblida decides she wants it no more? That she could do well on 152 days' worth of rations without having to share with us?'' Then, sucking in a breath, casting her eyes away from Clarke, she said: ''When does she decide she can do better without a paraplegic and a lame?''

Despite having to catching her breath, Clarke seemed striken. ''Lexa…'' she began, but then gave a sigh. ''It's a risk we'll have to take. But trust me, Lexa, when I say that the Nightblood isn't that kind of person.''

Lexa almost snorted. ''That _Natblida_ slammed a bear trap on your leg. That is not the best judge of a person.''

Clarke only gave an irritated sigh, before they both lapsed into silence. During then, Clarke wished that Lexa would become less cynical, while Lexa wished Clarke would've been more reasonable.

A pause came through the two of them. ''You didn't happen to catch her name, did you?''

Lexa shook her head. ''She refused. Doesn't speak much for your hopes.''

Another pause came between them.

''… why do you dislike this idea so much, anyway?'' Clarke was the first to break the silence, anger beginning to rise in her throat. ''Inviting the Natblida— _the last survivor on Earth other than us—_ is the best shot we've got to survive. Hell, you're the Commander, Lexa. You know better than _anyone_ what it takes to survive.'' And then, scornfully: ''Don't give me that _''love is a weakness''_ or _''trust only yourself''_ shit, because we both know you know it's not true.''

Lexa scoffed. ''For many reasons, Clarke. Your idea in itself is reckless and unreasonable, and hinges on the mere hope of _trust._ Firstly, she _forced_ _you_ into a _bear_ _trap_. That does not exude trust, does it?'' And at Clarke's scoff, her mouth open, ready to fire a response in return, she rushed on. ''Secondly, she is dangerous. This is a world where everyone fends for themselves, Clarke. We can't simply invite a child into our abode, and _trust_ that she will help us. Nothing will change that.''

Clarke shook her head. ''Doesn't mean we should give up on her.'' Then, lowly, ''She's not Aden, you know that, right? She's not any of your Natblidas.''

Clarke looked at Lexa, hoping for a response, but the only one Lexa gave her was a guilty lookaway. Then, realisation dawned on Clarke's features, before it was quickly overshone with anger. _'_ ' _I can't believe this,''_ she said, nearly a scoff. '' _You want to give up because she reminds you of the children you've failed?!_ Is that it? _Because you think you'll fail her, too?!'_ '

And then, Clarke seemed to recognise her outburst, for she took a long breath. ''You—you can't just give up just because…'' Clarke trailed off in disbelief, her eyes returning to Lexa. But Lexa was no longer listening.

Faces, _so many faces_ haunted her in the recesses of her mind. And though they've floated, danced round her mind so many times, nothing prepared her for them to break surface. _By the Spirits, Aden. Vos, Sharia, Clos, Xandri, Faish, Gl_ … _What was her name?! By the Spirits, what was it?!_

 _I'm forgetting. I can't forget. I made a promise not to._

''By the Spirits, Clarke,'' she whispered involuntarily, voice thick with emotion, stifling back tears from her eyes. _''There are so many of them.''_

Clarke's expression moulded from anger to concern in less than an instant. ''Hey…'' Clarke began, inching towards Lexa. ''… it's over. You wrote them down in your book, remember?'' she said, hobbling over to the counter, trying to find the book, and when she did holding it triumphantly and offering a smile: ''see? It's right here.''

She's drowning. She knows she isn't, but she feels like she's drowning.

Clarke recites the names for her, leads her through it albeit her choked tears, but it's not enough. _Aden Vos Sharia Clos XandriFaishGlesOrianEsoDaran… FAISHOrianXandri Aden ADEN vos clos SHARIA SHARIA gles orian orian ORIAN…_

She's always drowning.


	7. Spears and Sustenance

68 days since Praimfaya…

Spear-fishing turned out to be harder than it looked, especially when Clarke only had one leg for balance.

After a few dozen trials, and none remotely successful (there was one time when she managed to spear the tail of the fish as it swam away, being more of an accidental catch than anything, but that was only if she actually got the fish), Clarke decided to take a break on a boulder. She wouldn't go back to their abode yet—not so quickly. After all, it had been a pain coming down here, which would probably be even more so when she tried to get back up.

Settling the sopping-wet, practically-blunted spear by the boulder (for the amount of times it hit nothing but solid rock), Clarke stared hungrily at the creek. The sweat and the grime from her crutch, and afterwards, the spear-fishing had become all too real. How did Lexa deal with it? Clarke could really could use a bath.

Maybe later, her mind told her.

It took some shameful minutes until Clarke noticed the Nightblood staring at her.

It was when checking her spear that out of the corner of her eye, Clarke accidentally spotted the Nightblood, gazing at her in transfixation from behind a boulder. They were observing each other for a minute, until the Nightblood got up, and strolled down the creek, in which she began to spear-fish.

Unconsciously, Clarke took out a notepad, making herself comfortable on a boulder with a wince, placing her crutch beside the rock, and began to sketch the Nightblood and her spear-fishing techniques.

It was a quick sketch at first, something rough and simple, but her muse all but edged her on; just a little more shading here, just some more detail there—oh hey so **that's** how you do it—and before she knew it, she had spent thirty minutes on refining the drawing, a picture that vaguely resembled the Nightblood and a quick spear-fishing tutorial comic-sort of thing.

She just had to do the final touches. But when she looked up again from her notepad, the Nightblood was gone, disappearing out of sight into a boulder, the pile of fish she'd caught left flopping by the creek.

''Hey, wait!'' Clarke yelled at the Nightblood, who, if anything, sped up at the sound of her voice. In Trigedasleng, she managed to gasp out: ''Your fish—''

Wincing, she took her crutch underneath her arm, and dropping her notepad at the boulder, began to hobble after the Natblida.

Until she realised she couldn't possibly catch up.

And so, with a reluctant sigh, she hobbled back to the boulder, where the drawing of the Natblida and the spear-fishing techniques resided. With one last long look, she tore the sketch from her notepad, and with a rock pinned it down to the boulder. It wasn't exactly the best compensation, but then again, leaving with a bunch of fish that the Nightblood caught (and had apparently ''forgotten about'', though Clarke knew better than that) for free didn't exactly feel… ethical. Even if they were in the middle of the aftermath of a Nuclear Apocalypse.

I'm going to miss those drawings, Clarke thought, and with a final look at the creek, she winced and descended to take the pile of fish the Natblida left by the creek. Her appetite rumbling, she began to make her way back to Shallow Valley.

…

71 days since Praimfaya…

Clarke really liking the Natblida was something Lexa understood. She just didn't understand how to share the sentiment, not exactly.

It had been three days since Clarke came back with a modest haul of fish, which was a significant increase from what she usually would've brought back home. Their chances of feasting on seafood were usually slim to none. It was usually ration-packets, which were infused with… chemicals Lexa couldn't even pretend to begin to be familiar with. Which was why it was fairly a nice surprise to realise then that they were eating fish for that night.

But it wasn't over then. Clarke had returned, with the same amount of fish—no less, sometimes even more—over the course of three days since it began. Every time, Lexa was greeted to a bright smile on Clarke's face and a dropped kiss on the lips, and excited ramblings about how the Natblida was ''growing closer to her'' and how they would conserve in Trigedasleng sometimes, minus the bolting.

Lexa was happy about it, no doubt, but she wasn't as enthusiastic as Clarke was. She hadn't met up with the Natblida, not since a week ago when the Natblida saw her in their abode. The offer still stood on the table, and Clarke was all the more enthusiastic for it, and though Lexa couldn't say she exactly approved, seeing Clarke ramble about the Natblida always brought a small smile to her face.

Though it had only been thirteen days since the Bear Trap incident, Clarke seemed to talk enthusiastically about the Natblida whenever the subject matter was brought up, from how Clarke was learning how to spear-fish thanks to the Natblida, or how Clarke taught the Natblida back on how to draw after their fishing episodes. It was a far cry from when Clarke called the Natblida a ''child from hell'' after the Bear Trap incident.

How has Clarke taken a liking to the Natblida that slammed bear jaws into her leg? But Lexa found herself thinking this with a resigned smile, the anger and rage that usually would've followed the sentence long gone. In a way, the Natblida reminded her of Aden. Small, uncompromising, but obedient—until obedience was thrown out of the window, that was, when it most mattered. And that she appreciated him for.

A small, sad smile coloured her face. There was no harm in trying, she supposed. No harm in trying now.

…

It was nighttime when Lexa found the dead squirrel pinned to their door.

She was just out of the door from their abode, partially on the look-out for the Natblida, who was sure to be around the Shallow Valley village—after all, there was no harm in trying to sought her out, and it had only been a week and then some since their meeting, and partially to take a fresh breath of air, to stretch her legs, as they'd put it, before she went for dinner with Clarke, when she noticed the mutant squirrel pinned to their door with a Trikru arrow. It was within Lexa's reach, and so she suspected its origin from a short, ferocious Natblida, and confirmed when she took the arrow which revealed a note that she unfolded.

Sorry, it read in Trigdasleng. Lexa stared at the note for a moment, her lips a slight quirk, before placing it in her pocket.

Paper was scarce. The only places anyone could've gotten paper from was in Becca's lab, which provided Lexa and Clarke with their notebooks, or through scavenging. She had suspected it was neither of those options, but rather stolen from their notebooks, which the Natblida then used to write her note.

With one last glance outwards into the dead night, Lexa wheeled backwards, shut the door, with the dead squirrel on her lap, and moved back into their abode.

Out in the woods, among the shadows of the trees, Madi breathed in a small sigh. Crumbling her previous notes and stuffing them into her pocket, and producing the drawing Clarke did of her in the other, which she took a long look at—she took her bow which hung from a tree branch, and stalked off into the cold night, leaving the lingering warmth of the village behind.


	8. Abodes and Homes

78 days since Praimfaya…

It had been two weeks since Lexa's first meeting with the Natblida.

She hadn't thought much about it at first, not for long. Especially after her argument with Clarke, that ended with the loss of her composure and a faintly-embarrassing reassurance-session with the same Clarke that was yelling at her mere seconds ago, guiding Lexa through the recital of the twelve names in an effort to calm her down.

But two weeks had given her a long time to think—and it was true. The Natblida at Shallow Valley echoed her proteges all-too-eerily, and it played a factor in why she disagreed with Clarke's fairly sound plan. She feared she would fail this Natblida like she failed her twelve wards to Ontari's hand.

But you are not alone this time. You have Clarke. And Ontari is dead, and there is nothing that can hurt a Natblida on this Earth anymore, save for Mother Earth herself.

Lexa sucked in a breath. During the two weeks, where their haul and food-source significantly dropped due to Clarke's still-healing leg, she had tried not to think of Clarke's words, of how the Natblida would make a perfect hunter to sustain them.

But ever since then, she had woken up to find a fresh dead squirrel, pinned to their door. And then later in the afternoon, a stockpile of fresh fish that would last them for days. The squirrels of which she took with a small, exasperated head-shake before returning into the abode, the fish which she ate while enduring through Clarke's enthusiastic rants.

When Clarke had first heard the news of the Natblida's free dead mutant squirrel package plan, she was excited and could not stop talking about anything other than the Natblida for a whole day. And this was when the only subject Clarke would talk to her about was the Natblida and her still-in-development fishing skills. Now, she couldn't stop pestering Lexa about taking the Natblida in, and how she should ''try to meet up with the Natblida again, since you need a social life with her, too. Who knows? You might even be able to convince her!''

Lexa had mostly taken this with a sigh, but nothing could've prepared her for the Natblida's appearance when Clarke left for spear-fishing.

She'd assumed that the Natblida would've been at the creek with Clarke—after all, they had been bonding over spear-fishing and drawing, as far as Lexa could tell, and there wouldn't be any good reason to not miss it—unless, of course, the Natblida wanted to know more about her, too.

Lexa was sketching in their notepad when the Natblida entered their abode, without a warning or a sound.

''Can I come in?'' the Natblida asked, almost nervously. Lexa beckoned her in with a nod. The Nightblood's Trigedasleng was a mix of accents, something that vaguely resembled the Louwoda Kliron Kru's accent and something else which she couldn't directly place.

That was the least of Lexa's worries, however.

''I suppose you wouldn't be giving your name,'' Lexa said casually, as the Nightblood stared at her from the doorway. One part of her wondered if Clarke had forced the Natblida to come here, and if so, when she would pop up behind the doorframe casually with a cheeky smile and a thumbs-up beckoning her to continue conserving with the Natblida.

The mental image almost made her scoff, partially in amusement and partially in reluctance. Clarke was not here, however—something she realised when the Nightblood walked in and shut the door. Lexa was about to speak again, until the Nightblood asked, quietly, her fingers prickling one another: ''Is the invitation still up on the table?''

"It is." Lexa found herself saying. And she felt genuine about it. Perhaps she was not exactly lukewarm to Clarke's idea when she first suggested it,

Shifting nervously, bouncing on the balls of her feet, the Natblida looked at Lexa, her eyes level to hers, her voice unsure. ''May I… join?'' And at Lexa's glance, the Nightblood babbled on: ''I mean, I'm pretty sure I won't a burden and all, and I'd help out with hunting a-and the dishes and stuff… and you won't regret it, I promise.''

At the Nightblood's uneasy, but conforming glance, Lexa wanted to smile, almost, for it reminded her of a similar someone who had marched up to her and nearly demanded to be under her tutelage.

He didn't disappoint.

But even then there were trials—even for those Lexa knew were capable, for how else could she tell hot air, idle boasts, from genuine truths? So, with a cleared throat, she asked, with significant authority: ''You are clearly capable of taking care of yourself, goufa.'' Images of bear-traps and a disgruntled Clarke popped into her mind, and seeing the Natblida's flush, she likely thought the same. ''And yet you teach Clarke how to fish, imburse us with… resource, and now you come here. You could do well without a cripple and a lame,'' and at the Nightblood's resulting stutter, her face even more so flushed, as she stumbled over her words, Lexa tilted her chin upwards at the Nightblood. ''Indulge me. Why do you want to join us, when you can thrive so well yourself?''

The Nightblood sucked in a sigh, as her gaze darted around the abode, almost as if seeking for some invisible help. But then, when the Nightblood looked back at her, gaze hard and determined, Lexa knew that she had made up her mind. ''Like you said. There's no reason we should do this alone.'' A rushed breath, at Lexa's reaction—or lack thereof. ''And… well, I… kind of miss the company. After Praimfaya happened.'' Her stuttering was apparent, but the Nightblood concealed it with a bravado mask.

Lexa tilted her head in the slightest. ''And…?'' she prompted, but the authority in her voice had left. Replaced with something else. Familiarity. Softness. Concern?

And? Remember, you're not done yet. ''… I don't think I want to be alone anymore.'' the Nightblood said, hoarsely, her voice nearly a whisper, as if reminiscing about a past that once went untouched. Her eyes downcast, staring at her feet, expression a miles away.

''Of course,'' Lexa conceded, and at this, the ends of her lips quirked in the slightest—a small comfort, as much of an assurance she could give. ''Welcome to our home, goufa. Clarke was wondering when you would ask.''

The Nightblood perked at the mention of Clarke, and this, Lexa smiled.

Perhaps they could make this work.


	9. With Love, Trigedasleng

It had been a long while since Madi spoke to someone who knew Trigedasleng. Ever since her family had died and her kru had died, Madi didn't exactly bother to learn, or to speak Trigedasleng, for that matter. When every day after the next was a fight for survival, chances were that language wasn't exactly necessary when hunting for fish and setting bear traps.

But after meeting the two strangers in the midst of Shallow Valley, Madi noticed that her Trigedasleng weren't as up to standards as it should've been. Which really irked her, because she really felt like Clarke, an outsider, shouldn't have known more Trigedasleng words than she did. Madi could almost envision her sister scolding her with the eloquence of her words, moaning about how Madi's language use ''hurt her worse than what a dance of death could've done,'' while her Mother and Father looked disapprovingly on.

Whenever Madi stumbled on that particular subject, she usually glumly turned her thoughts away from them, biting back a small sigh. Even though her sister had caused so many screaming matches between the two of them—which admittedly Madi lost, due to her being extremely young at the time (what was she, four? Five?) and with all that said ''language eloquence'' that her sister scoffed that Madi had ''possessed''—Madi would gladly give all her bear traps even to just trade her sister back. And that was really sad and pathetic and annoying, and SHE KNEW THAT… but Madi missed her family.

Which left her to the subject of accents, after Madi shrugged off as many tears as she could from the game she called: ''try not to think about your family!'' Which was not very effective, for obvious reasons.

Either way. Accents. Everyone who used Trigedasleng would eventually form one somehow. Accents were usually clan-specific, with Azgeda's draggy tones and Louwoda Kliron Kru's inflated wordings or Trikru empathising on the kru in everything.

Accents were usually Madi's go-to method in discerning Clan-specific people. But Clarke's accent had baffled her. It was like a mix between Trikru and English, dempathizing on bits of vocabulary that should've been empathised or accidentally mixing up the tones and how long she should stay on a letter in a word.

Clarke's accent had been wonky, which jarred Madi enough to remind her that though she might look like one of them, she was an outsider. She had noticed Clarke's accent emerge less and less though, ever since their sessions at the creek, but it didn't change the very clear fact that she wasn't a part of Polis. Or at least, hadn't been until fairly recently.

But Lexa's accent was perfect. It sounded familiar, at least to Madi, and was a typical Polis citizen's type of accent. She could discern from the familiar accent that Lexa was part of the Trikru, and already Madi felt somewhat settled into a modicum of trust. Trikru was familiar, a friend.

Something she could trust, though she didn't remember who—or why—that was ingrained in her mind.

And so, only the slightest on edge, as Madi looked at Lexa, she asked: "What are you doing here?''

At her query, Lexa gestured at the notepad that she placed on the table a while ago, after Madi entered. ''Recording the existing species, edibles, and flora,'' she said idly. ''It is a need, if we wish to survive in the coming future.''

Madi nodded, quietly. Usually, Madi didn't bother with notetaking or drawing or whatever—she just wasn't good at it, for starters, and so far, stuffing anything green in her mouth seemed to have worked at keeping her alive thus far. But she supposed that with only one leg on deck (after Madi injured Clarke), there would have to be a need for a backup plan.

Madi's eyes flickered from Lexa's face to her wheelchair. Her curiosity was getting the better of her. ''What happened?'' she almost blurted out, and regretted almost immediately. Okay, Madi, just what did that have to do with anything?

Lexa's response was a hum so quiet she nearly couldn't hear. Then, she gestured to her legs, unmoving in a wheelchair.

Although Madi was uneasy, at first: didn't this intrude on Lexa's private space? Madi finally found herself involuntarily inching forward; and when she reached Lexa, she looked at the woman for approval; and when she nodded, Madi slightly touched Lexa's legs on the wheelchair.

They seemed no different from everyone's; despite the slight scarring and a tattoo of sorts, there was nothing out of the ordinary. It wasn't damaged, like Sankru's, or injured and broken. Or at least, it seemed so.

Madi had seen Lexa go and take care of Clarke in the bear trap, and later on while fetching water—and though Madi didn't know why, Lexa couldn't use her legs—like it was just dead-weight, just hanging there for some reason Madi didn't know.

''Will it heal?'' Madi asked, because she knew even though the damage wasn't obvious, Lexa wouldn't be in a wheelchair without reason.

A small, sad smile passed the woman's features. ''No.''

At this, Madi frowned, but asked no further questions. Usually, wounds healed—even those she set for people's legs in bear traps—they would be good and new in about a few months or so. So why was this different? The woman, however, continued.

''I was shot by a person, who was trying to kill my friend.'' Then, Madi's frown deepened, because wasn't there a rule once against the Clans using guns? She didn't remember the exact details, but she did remember seeing a surge in guns in Louwoda Kliron Kru after Wanheda slayed the Mauron. Or unless the person who shot Lexa wasn't a Clan member at all.

Noticing her frown, Lexa gave a solemn smile. ''The bullet fractured my spine; messed with my nerves. I was paralysed; I could not move my legs.''

Madi's eyes flittered nervously from Lexa's legs to Lexa, as if unsure of what to make of it. ''Is that why you're here?'' Madi asked, trailing her fingers on Lexa's legs. She wondered if Lexa could feel it. ''Because you cannot move?''

Lexa nodded quietly, inexplicably, the movement so small that Madi nearly didn't catch it. ''Yes, for one,'' Lexa said, looking at Madi in the eyes. For some reason, it reminded Madi of one of the lessons she'd had in Polis. Not Louwoda Kliron Kru's, though. It was different. At Madi's questioning stare: ''I was marking down the fertile flora and calculating harvest times before you came in-however, I am finished for the day.'' Lexa's hand slipped back to her notepad. ''And two, I was waiting for Clarke.''

Madi shook her head, which seemed to visibly surprise Lexa. ''No. Clarke's not coming back for a long time. She needs to take a bit to prepare until she really begins spear-fishing.'' Then, a sheepish grin. ''She's not actually all that good at it.'' Madi offered.

At first, Lexa didn't seem to know what to make of this information, but after a few moments, Lexa's expression transformed into something of determination. ''Well, goufa. Seeing we have time... would you like to go on a hunt?''


	10. Where to Read The Rest

The rest of this fic is avaliable on Archive of Our Own, under the same name. Here is the link: /works/15365007/chapters/35652720

In case it doesn't work:

Works: works/15365007

Pseud: Of the League (Serpyre)

Thank you! :)


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